


Price of Admission

by Glittermonkey (Schizanthus)



Category: Velvet Goldmine
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 21:08:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schizanthus/pseuds/Glittermonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taking a look at the dawning of a new age.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Price of Admission

**Author's Note:**

> Posted to ff.net back in 4/13/2001.
> 
> Long-winded monologue-type vignette character study.

SOMBRERO CLUB -- OUTSIDE -- 11:14 PM -- 1969

"That'll be ten bob to you, mate."

*Damn.* I stared after the receding backs of the fashionable couple that had effortlessly sashayed in before me, then began rummaging in my pockets for money, hoping nobody was watching. Walking straight in was obviously not going to happen.

After some extended hunting, I produced a single heavy coin. It was one of the new ones, still shiny from the mint. Its strange heptagonal sides glinted in the lamplight, seeming so foreign that it was easy to forget it was real, the herald of a drastically new system that would wipe away centuries of tradition. It looked like currency from another land. One more innovation -- yet another sign of the undeniable future seeping into every portion of our lives. I smiled inwardly. Yes, this was appropriate, indeed. Take this token of mine, then, and let me step into tomorrow.

The doorman gave me a gratingly feigned smile. I considered shoving the coin into the gap between his two large front teeth, then thought better of it. With barely a moment's hesitation, I handed over the last of my small savings. Other expenses could wait.

Sometimes, one has to make sacrifices to get ahead. Everything in life has a fee. It's simply up to the consumer to make sure he gets what he pays for. And at that point, I was willing to pay just about any price for one clear shot at a dream.

I squared my shoulders and entered the club, staidly ignoring the sentry as he continued to sneer after me. Jackal at the door.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

SOMBRERO CLUB -- EDGE OF CROWD -- 11:20 PM -- 1969

Yes, it would be tonight. This was the brink of a new year, a new decade and, if I played my cards right, a new life.

Taking a few cautious steps at a time, I stayed close to the walls as I made my way deeper into the wildly undulating morass of humanity. It was New Year's madness in full swing -- music blaringly loud, coloured lights dizzily swirling, a spectacular variety of brightly costumed party goers -- everything and everyone cranked to maximum volume, lest the world should end with the chiming of the clock.

And there she was, in the center of it all, wearing a sequined dress that rivalled the mirror ball in blinding iridescence. I took a few steps closer, hardly noticing the jostling of the crowd now that my sights were set. She was the key.

Mandy, Sandy, Candy... I didn't remember her exact name, having just caught random snatches of conversation as I'd unobtrusively wandered by her on a half dozen different occasions. Something vivacious like that. Besides the point, really. It all had to do with what she was, not who she was.

I'd been watching her for three weeks now. She knew practically everyone who was anyone in just about every club across town. A regular nexus of all that was trendy, modern, and possibly influential. Her every action and reaction seemed familiar to me, even though I'd never been anything more to her than a casual observer. And she had plenty of those. Few of them, I suspected, were taking quite as many notes, though.

Every flourish of the hand, every sideways glance, every calculated giddy laugh -- these were all clues to what she claimed to be, what she wanted to be, what she truly was. Observed also were the people she tended to gravitate to; I watched for their common qualities, found the patterns, and now distilled the sum of their charms for my final advances. I was fairly sure I had her deciphered. Push a button here, make a comment there, and watch as she falls for it all with the predictability of clockwork. Everybody has their talents.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

SOMBRERO CLUB -- IN THE CROWD -- 11:30 PM -- 1969

She turned her gaze toward me at that moment, scanning the crowd, as if she felt my stare. I took another step forward, ready to put my plan in motion. Before I could act, however, the lights dimmed suddenly and a crash of cymbals brought the dancing to a standstill. My attention followed the spotlight as it flew up to the curtained back of the second floor.

Squeals and exclamations came from the crowd around me as a tall man in velvet and pearls made his way out and down, a small procession of select retainers following after him at a respectable distance. I was entranced. He held himself in an almost royal fashion, deigning to glance at the rabble around him every once in a while, eliciting a renewed clamour of admiration wherever his survey happened to fall.

Delicate steps, shoulders back, the gentle sway of the hip and the proud lift of the chin. He knew all eyes were watching him and openly basked in the attention given. Ever so serenely, as if it would never do to show agitation or emotion to the masses. 

He was, by no means, attractive in any traditional way. In fact, he was rather gaunt and skeletal, his dramatic mask of makeup only further accentuating the sharp contours of his face. But combined with his cloak of mystique, this artfully flagrant display of extremes was oddly magnetic. He was creating his own brand of beauty, and the legions adored it.

Brilliant. A pang of jealousy swept over me, watching all those people moon over him. That would be me some day. I took in his every gesture, every look, and filed it away in the back of my head. All of life was a resource to be indexed, for those that knew what they were doing. And what I knew most at that point was overwhelming desire.

I wanted him. I wanted to be him. One or the other. Possibly both. I never made much of a distinction between the two. Our gazes met for a brief but electric moment before he continued making his rounds. I knew I would see him again later tonight.

One might think such a sudden captivation with a complete stranger could only be fleeting, superficial. Mere infatuation, doomed to dissipate with the first beams of dawn, because it was not based on anything deeper or more meaningful than a few moments of intense mutual ogling. What such an assumption ignores, though, is that we can never escape from the defining walls of appearances and outward representation. We are shaped from birth by the input of those around us, and that is based almost entirely on the way you are seen. What you see is what you get, and attraction has all to do with what one has to offer. One might call it a mask, another might call it the truth. I'm not sure there is much of a difference at all.

The mirror, the vessel, the chameleon, the actor. Because in the end, people don't really want anything new. The idea that there even *is* anything truly new is questionable. They want something vaguely familiar, but with enough of a twist so that they can feel like they're on untrodden territory. Their search for modernity, their resistance of all that is staid and traditional, might paradoxically lead them to emulate ideas from decades and centuries ago. But as luck would have it, attention spans don't seem to reach past a generation or two. It all ends up recycled. They want to appear accepting and daring and fashionable without ever having to deal with the shattering consequences real change always brings. So, to a certain extent, I intend to give them what they want: the thrill and not the risk. And they'll respond in droves. Inject sugar water, then let them see their stars. In enough quantities, even water can get you drunk.

Jack, I would find out not long after, was too concerned about the ideal to ever be able to realize it. In order to introduce something, advances must be made methodically. Evolution happens, change is inevitable, yes. And it may come in either slow marches or furious bursts, but it will never come out of nowhere. It is the process of eliminating that which does not work and enhancing that which does. In order to do that, one must create a solid base and take from all that is available. Everything is built off of something else -- to seal oneself off from such influences is ludicrous. The branch will break if it does not bend. Jack, ever the dreamer, was too intent on his selfish illusion of originality to see this. My strength lies perhaps not in creativity, but in my ability to sense when the time is right for striking, when the audience is primed for the show. My taste for that which could be exploited and advanced was impeccable. He would never forgive me for that.

A real artist creates beautiful things and puts nothing of his own life into them. It's all the more easy when that artist begins with a completely blank slate. It was too personal for Jack. To me, it was just art.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

SOMBRERO CLUB -- DANCE FLOOR -- 11:55 PM -- 1969

The party had resumed. He had moved on and she, after throwing herself at him in a puppyish display of ecstatic glee, was once again moving to the music.

Back to the task at hand.

I took a step onto the dance floor, cutting in front of some random man who she might or might not have been dancing with. It was hard to tell in the crush, and he was in the way.

Her head turned and our eyes met for the first time. Hazy eyes, lids drooping from inebriated fatigue and too many coats of mascara. She let out a capricious giggle and danced closer.

Yes, this would work.

I extended my hand, the rest of the room falling away into silent obscurity. The line between reality and perception now completely erased.

Dance with me. Enter my domain. Listen to my song and forget everything that ever came before. I will be your world now, and you will never want another.

"Do you jive?"

I smiled as she nodded and took my hand, moving even closer. One down, one to go.

Tonight, I knew that I would definitely be getting my money's worth.

-finis-

**Author's Note:**

> This little thing had been in the works since February, but there just seemed to be a certain *something* missing which kept me from posting... until recently. After reading Rocky's wonderful _A Kiss Is Still A Kiss_, the character of Jack finally solidified for me and the rest fell into place. So thanks to Kate B. for research verification, thanks to bolan and Ladyhawk for some emergency reassurance and beta-ing, and thanks to Rocky for the final spark of inspiration.


End file.
